


[Death Grips, the Lore-Friendly Companion Voice] HAVE A SAD CUM

by yelling



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yelling/pseuds/yelling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After couriers three and six manage to run the legion and the NCR out of town, they get blackout drunk and well, you're on AO3 you can imagine what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	[Death Grips, the Lore-Friendly Companion Voice] HAVE A SAD CUM

**Author's Note:**

> NEVER joke about you and your friend's ocs fucking. Don't do it bro!!!

The Atomic Wrangler was roaring with excitement. There were people packed to the walls, dancing, singing, joking. The joy was palpable to everyone there, they could taste it on their tongues as they chanted “It’s our bar, fuck NCR!” and when they toasted to their newfound freedom over watery beer and shots of tequila. Everyone, except a somber few, one being one of the King’s newer groupies who was busy crying between gags because she’d never had that much whiskey before, the other being Antonio. He leaned against the balcony, watching everyone celebrate with reckless abandon. The leaders of the party, Reagan and Cass, were busy standing on the bar, singing some Christmas song (Blue Christmas? It was hard to tell) the best they could 10 shots deep and 3 months away from December. He wondered why the Garetts didn’t stop them, or better yet, where they were. The bar would be an absolute wreck in the morning if things kept on like this, that was for sure. He hoped that Reagan didn’t put him on the tab for everyone again. He looked down again and saw Reagan staring at him before hopping off the counter, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t need his god damn pity, he was fine dwelling on shit alone. Despite Antonio’s contempt, Reagan continued running up the stairs, not aware of the amount of beer he was spilling.

“Hey, why aren’t you happy?” He said, blunt as ever. “We won! We saved New Vegas, can’t you lighten up a little?”

“No.” Antonio said, nursing his already half-empty bottle of absinthe.

“Jesus dude.” Reagan said, making him wince. This was exactly what he was afraid of. He could stand sympathy from everyone but this tremendous asshole, who looked at him with the same brown eyes as a brahman. They had a glimmer behind them that teeters on awareness and empathy but it’s hard to tell, the man’s so dense. “You’re gonna have the shits if you keep drinking that, you know that right?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be busy trying to get in Cass’s pants?” That was far more bitter than he wanted it to sound. “You know what, I don’t need an answer. Just. Leave me alone.”

“No, this is a kickass party. I thought this is what you wanted.”

“It’s not the-”He stopped and waved his hand, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, I can take it.” What didn’t respond, he instead avoided looking at him at all. “Fuck it, give me that.” Reagan tried to wrestle the bottle out of Antonio’s hand. They both squabbled for a good 30 seconds before the bottle escaped both of their grasps and shattered on the floor below.

“You owe me 30 caps.”

“I, uh, don’t have that on me but how about a beer?”

“I don’t _want_ a beer, I want you to leave me alone!” he bit back an insult that was forming on his tongue. Not the time for a scene.

“Yeah, but that’s not going to happen, so let’s just,” Reagan motioned to the stairs. He figured Reagan would pass out sooner if he just went along, so he followed him to the stairs. Reagan slipped a bit on his way down, but Antonio caught him in time, despite his world getting a little more blurry around the edges.

“Two beers for the kings of New Vegas, please!” Reagan shouted to Francine. She was lurking in the shadows of the overhang, looking equal parts pissed off and drunk.

“Here,” she slammed down two bottles with as little contempt she could possibly contain.

“To freedom!” Reagan shouted, and the crowded bar roared back. He clinked his bottle against Antonio’s, who stayed humorless in his expression. Reagan managed to muster enough conversation for the both of them for a solid hour, and by then the bar started thinning out, leaving only the lonely and alcoholics to weave and bob between each other on their way to and from the bar.

“So, if you’re gonna bother talking at all, I want to know why you’re being such a Debbie Downer.” Reagan was obviously nearing his black-out point, and so was Antonio, so he saw no reason not to tell him.

“If I tell you can I leave?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got stuff to do anyways.” Reagan said, raising his eyebrows at a girl sitting at the other end of the bar. She didn’t seem amused.

“Okay.” Antonio sat up straight, ready to tell him off. “You remember the first time we ever drank together?”

“Oh my god, the whole “hey we’re going to fuckin kill Benny” thing? Yeah that was a blast.” Reagan chuckled

“What’s different?” Antonio asked before taking a long sip of his beer. It was a long while of silence, and he could almost see Reagan trying to work this out.

“Ohhhh fuck. Dude. Oh my god I’m so sorry about Knight. Oh man. Shit that was my bad, I-” Reagan stammered but Antonio put up his hand.

“No you’re… it’s fine. I just-” Antonio looked up to double check if Reagan was as far gone as he thought. He was pretty sure neither of them would remember anything about this conversation. “You know what it’s like being a courier, yeah? Well, I mean I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but like. You become so emotionally disconnected, and you go so long without anyone to care about, and you finally find him and you think he’s the one and… fuck I thought about living in some shithole cabin with him. Becoming a farmer.”

“Fuck. I’m sor-”

“Don’t, it’s-” he was trying hard to choke back either tears or vomit, he couldn’t tell. He hated being such a sappy drunk. “It was my fault. I should have been smarter about it.” A long silence passed between them. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” Antonio was looking at his hands but he could feel Reagan's eyes boring into him.

“No way.”

“I was actually going to go tonight but-”

“You can’t leave New Vegas.”

“I’ve already decided it. Shit’s packed and everything.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

“This was a mistake.” Antonio fished a bag of caps out of his satchel and plopped them on the counter before standing up. “This should cover it, Francine.” He was halfway out the door before Reagan was falling over himself trying to follow him.

“You can’t just leave, Antonio!” he choked out, climbing to his feet and chasing him out the door. Despite his general physical unfitness, he was able to catch up and pull him back by the collar of his jacket. “What the fuck were you thinking of doing out there?”

He brushed his hand away. “I’ll wing it. I just can’t stay here.”

“You? No. I mean I can do that just fine. Work odd jobs, fuck weird chicks. You-” he jabbed his finger hard into Antonio’s breastbone, “-can’t. You’re not just some stranger to the world anymore. The NCR hate you, the legion _definitely_ hate you. Really, honestly, what did you think you’d do?”

He stopped, wide eyed. To be honest, he hadn’t really thought about it. He figured he’d just go back to courier work or something simple like it, but you can’t be a courier if you can’t travel most of the southwest without a target on your back. “I… I don’t know.”

“You think you’re a lonely sad sack of shit now, what are you going to do without Cass? Jesus, did you even tell her or any of the others you were gonna leave? Did you consider any of us in your stupid plan? I’ve done a lot of stupid, selfish shit in my life, but this beats almost all of it.” What broke down fast, and was sobbing and oh shit oh god oh no Reagan didn’t expect this. He set his hand on Antonio’s shoulder and the poor guy crumpled fast, crying into Reagan’s shoulders, which made him freeze up.

He looked around to see if anyone could see this utter catastrophe unfold so he could possibly hand Antonio off to them to make sure he got to the 38 safe. If he had enough time he could probably convince Francine it wouldn’t be a complete mistake to fuck him before the bar closed. The only person out at such an ungodly time was a King taking a smoke break underneath the neon sign across the street. Great. Antonio was mumbling something about feeling alone so Reagan patted his back. He stopped hyperventilating, which was good enough for him to try and peel Antonio off of him. “Are you, uh, alright?” Antonio must have not heard the question because he just stood there, nose to nose with Reagan. He leaned in, and Reagan pulled back. “Woah there, haha. What do you think you’re doing?” Antonio teared up, probably trying to pull out a sorry in his pathetic, piss drunk muttering. Reagan sighed and figured going through with this was easier than trying to bring him all the way back to the Lucky 38 and try and jack off and ignore Antonio’s muffled crying from the other room. He returned the attempted kiss and could taste the salt and beer and what lingered of the absinthe in Antonio’s mouth. It was messy, to say the very least. He leaned up against Antonio and could feel the poor man’s head slam against the brick of the building, but if it hurt, he gave no response.

It’d been far too long for Antonio, he used one hand to palm Reagan through his slacks. He grinned when He could feel Reagan moan into his mouth, glad he could coax him out of his straight panic shit so easily. He stopped, though, to keep his balance right on the wall.

“Wha…” Reagan broke off, confused. “Don’t stop that, please.” He could hear the desperation in his voice for the first time in the months they’d travelled together.

“I’m not sucking you off in an alleyway.”

“Why not?” Reagan asked, but he didn’t need to think about it before he realized how stupid he sounded. “Yeah, never mind. You’re right. I’ve still got that room in the Wrangler, I think.”

“You mean my room?”

“Whatever. You coming?”

\---

The door clicked as it locked shut and they picked up where they left off out front. Reagan blindly fumbled with his belt before Antonio took over for him. He unbuttoned his pants and reached into the elastic of shorts that were, to be frank, not as tidy as the rest of his dress would make one assume. “Not bad.” He whispered, moving his fingers delicately enough to make Reagan’s breath hitch instead arguing about what constitutes “good.”

Reagan sat down at the edge of the bed and kicked off his shoes, while Antonio spit in his hand and got to work on Reagan’s half-hard cock. Reagan reclined, hands tucked behind his head, until Antonio took him in his mouth and he arched his back because fuck he didn’t expect that to feel as good as it did.

He made sure to go slow pulling himself back, dragging his tongue along the bottom of his shaft until it flicked and he made an obscenely audible pop. He continued bobbing up and down, more regularly now, but was surprised by his partner’s almost complete silence.

“You alright up there?” he asked.

“Yeah” he said breathlessly and propped himself up on his elbow. “I’m just- oh god keep doing that. I’m not really used to this… situation. Can’t- god… can’t say ‘yeah baby let me see those great tits’ you know?”

“Just say whatever comes to mind. No script, no pressure.” He took Reagan back into his mouth and palmed his own erection when finally, Reagan started mumbling about how great he was and how pretty those lips looked wrapped around his cock and _look up at me, won’t you?_ It was only when Reagan untied his hair and ran his hands through his dark hair did Antonio push himself forward enough for the tip to hit the soft skin at the back of his throat. The last time he did this the guy nearly choked him by bucking unexpectedly, but thankfully Reagan only shivered and continued muttering.

It was beginning to get a little exhausting for What’s jaw and honestly very painful for his own neglected erection when finally Reagan spat out a ragged, exhausted “I’… I’m..” before coming in What’s mouth. Antonio spit what he could on the floor, impatient to get to work on his own dick.

"I’m figuring you’ve never sucked anyone off, right?” he said, elbows propped up on Reagan’s knees.

“No.” he said between pants, “But I’m up to, Jesus, what’s it called?”

“Bottom?” Antonio offered.

“Yeah, that.”

“You sure?” He asked, scared he’d tear something because Reagan has a tendency to talk big and they both knew they were too drunk to get dressed and run down to the followers camp.

“There’s a reason fisto gets such a regular paycheck.” He said, pointing to himself. “There’s lube in the side table.”

He fished the jar out of the drawer and slathered his fingers in lube, blessing whatever sad schmuck was out there working his ass off converting some strange combination of fat and vegetables into the grease in the gears of New Vegas. He was glad he didn’t have to turn what was already so exhausting and surreal for him into a lesson for Reagan, He looked like the kind of man that would get defensive when you remind him “no teeth” anyways.

Reagan was laying on his back, knees bent, humming something Antonio couldn’t recognize. He stopped with a sharp gasp when Antonio teased him with a short thrust of his finger, working him enough to fit a second one in. Reagan’s hips twitched with each short brush against his prostate and he looked near on the edge of tears when Antonio pulled them out.

He made sure to spread Reagan’s thighs slow and sure, hands rubbing the space accidentally rubbed pink by his unshaven face. He kept one hand on Reagan’s hips, one on his dick, and eased into him slowly, unable to stifle a moan of relief. He paced himself, knowing somewhere in his mind that this would be his last good fuck for a while.

There was some moment of clarity between thrusts in his hazy, booze addled mind. The moment was not unlike the times of existential panic in the way it caught his throat and filled his chest with cotton. The realization that oh god no, I’m actually fucking Reagan.

It was short lived as Reagan interrupted whatever train of thought that was just getting started by asking “You think you could choke me a bit? I’ve always wanted to try that.”

That sent him over the edge.

\---

Reagan woke up and saw the oh-so familiar wallpaper of the Atomic Wrangler’s corner room. He grinned, figuring he was able to bag some prim-o babe since he couldn’t hear fisto’s hum. He turned over to see his partner from last night’s escapades facing the other way, sheets tucked under her armpit. He ran his hand through her black tresses and she hummed pleasantly. “Damn…” he muttered and he could feel her tense.

“Um.” The voice was uncomfortably familiar. Oh fuck. “R-… Reagan?” Antonio slapped Reagan’s hand out of his hair and snapped his head around out of some hope that they were both wrong. They stared at each other for a long, nausea inducing moment before they peeled the sheets off and reached for their clothes. Antonio closed his eyes, cursing the earth for not collapsing and swallowing him whole. He left the room first, making sure to click the door shut, leaving Reagan to hastily button up his alone. He ran downstairs and turned the corner, bumping into Francine, who was about to chew him out before she stepped back and grinned, the smug fuck.

“You two have fun up there?” She asked, the sides of her eyes crinkling.

“Shu-” He took a deep breath. “Whatever happened last night, never happened. Never. Reagan was busy with that sex robot, I was… somewhere else. Okay?”

“With the tip you gave me last night?” Francine winked, “Sure. As long as you fuckers never trash my bar again.”


End file.
